Attacked by the Allies
by Deana
Summary: Ever wonder what could happen if London made a mistake? Hogan and Newkirk find out the hard way...
1. Bad Timing

**Attacked by The Allies  
**A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters. Boo hoo.

***************

"The air raid is scheduled for 1900 hours," said a British voice over the radio. "We need you to retrieve a copy of the plans before the planes arrive."

"Understood; we'll have them. Papa Bear out." Hogan handed the microphone to Kinch, before rubbing his hands together excitedly and looking at his men.

"How do you plan to go about this, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Simple," said Hogan. "We drive up, walk in, take the plans, and go."

"An' who exactly is 'we'?" asked Newkirk.

Hogan smiled and walked over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Why, thank you for volunteering, Newkirk!" He looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel, thinking. "Hmm…I think we'll let _you_ play the general this time. How would you like that?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, though he was eager for some action. "Well, me fake German accent _is_ better than yours…"

Hogan made a face, even though he knew it was true. "Better than mine _what_?"

Newkirk snapped to attention. "Better than yours _sir_!"

Everyone laughed.

"All right, all right…" Hogan said. "We need uniforms…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later saw Hogan and Newkirk driving their stolen German staff car towards a new weapons facility where the Germans were designing a new type of automatic rifle. Hogan was at the wheel, dressed as a sergeant, while Newkirk was dressed as a general.

Pulling up at the gate, the SS uniforms were enough to get them through without question, and Hogan parked and ran around to the passenger side, opening the door and giving Newkirk a salute.

With a stern expression, Newkirk stepped out of the car, holding a riding crop under his arm in imitation of Colonel Klink. He walked past Hogan and into the front door of the building.

Hogan ran ahead of Newkirk, and shouted, "Achtung!"

A man sitting at a desk looked up and jumped to his feet, standing at attention.

Newkirk approached the man slowly, looking down his nose at him. "Who ees in charge here?"

"Zat vould be me, Herr General!"

Newkirk frowned, as if disappointed at that. "Hmm. Better then nothzing, I suppose. I vould like to see zee plans for zee new gun."

The man hesitated. "I vas not informed that—"

Newkirk snapped his riding crop on the man's desk. "I vish to see zem _now_! Sergeant?!"

Hogan snapped to attention. "General!"

"Take zis man's orders and give zem to me so I can change zem to zee Russian Front!"

Hogan stepped forward, but the man held up a hand. "I have a copy of zee plans right here!" He quickly opened a drawer and took them out.

"Give zem to me, Sergeant," Newkirk said.

Hogan snatched them from the man and handed them to Newkirk, who took a monocle out of his pocket and stuck it in his right eye. "Hmm…hmm…yes…" Newkirk mumbled, studying them. He looked at the German and nodded. "Danke," he said. He then rolled the plans up, stuck them inside his jacket, and turned around.

"Herr General!" said the man, shocked that he was taking the plans.

Newkirk turned around, tucking his riding crop under his arm again. "_Yes?_" he said, menacingly.

"You…can't take...take…"

Hogan looked at the man. "Achtung!" he shouted.

The terrified German once again snapped to attention.

Newkirk and Hogan walked out, with Hogan opening the door for the 'General'. They both got in and drove away, and Newkirk laughed once they were out the gates.

"Blimey, that was fun!" he said.

Hogan shook his head. "I gotta hand it to you…you sure can imitate a German. Are you sure there's no krauts in your family?"

Newkirk gave him a shocked look. "Colonel!"

Hogan smiled. "Where did you get the monocle?"

"Took it right outta Klink's 'and last week!" Newkirk replied, dropping it into his pocket. "I knew it'd come in 'andy someday!"

Hogan smiled again and shook his head, not surprised in the least.

They continued to drive, making it nearly halfway back to the stalag when they suddenly heard a loud rumbling noise.

Newkirk looked out the window, his eyes dawning with shock. "Colonel! It's the air raid!"

Hogan frowned. "What?! What time is it?"

Newkirk looked at his watch, but had no chance to answer before a bomb exploded nearby.

Hogan swerved the car, and the bombs continued to fall.

"It's only 1800, Colonel!" Newkirk finally was able to say.

Hogan had no chance to answer before a bomb landed close enough for the blast to knock their car off the road, flipping it over once before it landed against a tree.

If anyone had seen the accident, they would've noticed that no one immediately got out of the vehicle.

TBC


	2. Unfortunate Error

Hogan blinked his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart and get his bearings. Another bomb fell nearby, and he instinctively ducked. "Newkirk!" he exclaimed. "You okay?"

He received no answer.

Hogan looked to the left, seeing the Englishman slumped against the passenger door, unconscious. "Newkirk?" he said, reaching over to check for a pulse, relieved to find one. "Newkirk!"

No reply.

Bombs continued to fall, and Hogan slid over to the corporal, covering him with his own body as if he could actually keep him safe from the destruction that waged all around them. It didn't last very long, as the planes continued their flight, and when they were out of range, Hogan sighed with relief.

After checking Newkirk's pulse again, Hogan quickly got out of the car, stumbling when his head responded with a throb. He reached out to brace himself on the trunk, removing his sergeant's helmet and rubbing his neck, where the stab of pain had come from. He hurried around the back of the car before seeing that the passenger door was wedged against the tree, making it impossible to open.

Quickly, he crawled back into the driver's side of the car, checking Newkirk for injuries as best he could before carefully pulling the Englishman across the seat and out the door, gently laying him on the ground.

Hogan knelt beside the younger man, immediately noticing the blood that dripped down the left side of his face from a nasty wound on his forehead. With a concerned sigh, he gently tapped Newkirk's cheek. "Newkirk?" he said. "Wake up, we have to get out of here. Newkirk?"

Still no answer.

Sighing again, Hogan scrubbed a hand across his face nervously before standing and getting back into the car. He tried to start it up, but the engine wouldn't turn over, apparently too damaged from the crash. Realizing that they'd have to abandon the vehicle, he looked inside and grabbed Newkirk's German officer's hat, which he found on the floor. _I should've had Newkirk be the sergeant,_ he thought, realizing that the hard hat would've protected the Englishman's head, like it had protected Hogan's own.

Leaving the car, he again knelt beside Newkirk and took out a handkerchief, holding it against the cut on his forehead as he tried to wake him up again. It took nearly an hour before the injured man finally responded with a groan. "That's it, wake up! Come on, Newkirk!"

The Englishman groaned again, eyes clenched shut with a wince.

Hogan sighed. "Newkirk? Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

After a few more seconds, Newkirk finally did. "Colonel?" he said, sounding dazed.

Hogan sighed with relief. "Yeah, it's me. How many fingers do you see?" he asked, holding up two.

Instead of answering, Newkirk's eyes drifted closed again.

"Stay awake!" Hogan exclaimed, gently shaking his arm. "Newkirk, look at me!"

The Englishman slowly reopened his eyes.

"How many fingers?" Hogan repeated.

Newkirk blinked and squinted. "Five."

Hogan lowered his hand with a sigh. "Figures. Can you sit up?"

Newkirk frowned, wincing again. "What 'appened?" he asked, as if being awake only now.

"The air raid was an hour early!" Hogan replied, angrily.

"Air raid?" Newkirk repeated, confused.

Hogan sighed again. Newkirk obviously shouldn't be moved, but they had little choice in the matter. "Let's get you up. Don't move; let me do the work."

Newkirk remained still as Hogan slid an arm underneath him and sat him up slowly. The change in position caused stars to erupt in his vision, and he closed his eyes with a gasp.

Hogan inwardly cursed the man who'd changed the timing of the air raid when Newkirk's head lolled limply against his shoulder. He reached up and tapped the Englishman's face. "Don't pass out on me yet, Newkirk! Wait until we get back to the stalag, huh?"

Newkirk somehow heard him, and tried to lift his head.

Hogan knew that if sitting up made Newkirk black out, then standing would be worse. "Just take it easy for a minute," he said, knowing that rushing was pointless if Newkirk ended up unconscious again.

The Englishman stilled, breathing heavily against the pounding pain that reverberated through his skull.

"Are you hurt anywhere else besides your head?" Hogan asked him.

Newkirk didn't answer for a minute, assessing himself. "Just bruises...I think."

Hogan nodded. "Same here."

"I don't remember what 'appened ta us…" Newkirk told him. He raised a hand to his forehead, but his aim was clumsy and he accidentally whacked his wound, making it bleed again.

Hogan inwardly cursed when he saw the renewed blood flow. "I'm not surprised. It looks like you hit your head pretty hard."

"How?" Newkirk asked, wincing.

Hogan shook his head, still angry. "The air raid happened an hour early! They _knew_ we'd be out here! What kind of irresponsible—" He felt Newkirk's body tense up, and realized that he was talking loudly practically right into the injured man's ear. "Sorry," he said, more softly.

They were quiet for a few seconds, before Newkirk seemed to notice the crashed vehicle. "Were we in the car?"

Hogan nodded. "Yeah."

Newkirk frowned, still trying to remember the incident.

The colonel sighed. "Come on. Let's see if you can stand up," he said, pulling Newkirk's arm around his own shoulders. He stood slowly, gripping Newkirk tightly when the Englishman's knees buckled. Hogan pulled Newkirk over to the back bumper of the car and sat him there; holding his handkerchief against the Englishman's wound again.

Newkirk couldn't prevent a groan, elbows on his knees while holding his spinning head, which felt like a thousand Schultz's were doing jumping jacks inside it.

"Schultz what?" asked Hogan.

Newkirk didn't answer, and the colonel grew more concerned. He squeezed Newkirk's shoulder and looked around, making sure no one was in sight. "We have to get out of here," he told him.

Newkirk slowly straightened up, eyes closed against the dizziness.

Hogan pulled Newkirk's arm around his shoulders again and stood, holding onto him for a minute before he took a step.

Newkirk, for his part, valiantly fought against the unconsciousness that wanted to reclaim him. It was obvious to them both that he had a concussion.

Hogan stayed on the side of the road among the trees, not wanting to be spotted by anyone. He tried to keep the pace easy for Newkirk, but nothing could be easy in his present condition.

Newkirk had suffered a few head injuries in his lifetime—including the day that he'd been brought as a prisoner to stalag thirteen—but the pain from this one topped them all. He couldn't remember a single thing about the accident, and wanted nothing more than to lie down. He was grateful for Hogan's strong grip, for he knew that he'd be flat on his face otherwise.

The walk back to the stalag seemed to take forever, with Hogan needing to stop for a while once when Newkirk abruptly passed out. He was able to wake him up again, but the corporal was obviously growing weaker the longer he was forced to walk.

When the tunnel stump came into view, Hogan sighed with relief. Unexpectedly, he suddenly saw it pop open, and Carter climbed out, followed by LeBeau and Kinch. They didn't see him at first, in the dark, and walked in their direction, dressed all in black.

Carter eventually looked straight at him, and stopped dead in his tracks, startled. "Colonel! What happened!"

The other two saw, and all three men rushed over.

"Newkirk has a concussion," Hogan told them. "I'll explain in the tunnel."

Kinch, easily the strongest of the men, picked Newkirk up and carried him the rest of the way to the stump, and they carefully got him down the ladder and safely underground.

"What happened to you two!" said LeBeau, seeing the blood on Newkirk's face and quickly turning away from the sight.

"Are you hurt too, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shook his head, a wince contradicting him. "Think I pulled a muscle in my neck," he said, rubbing it. "I'm fine."

"Why didn't you come back before the air strike!" Carter exclaimed.

"They _changed_ it!" said Hogan, as they gently laid Newkirk on a cot that they wisely kept stashed down there. "It came at 1800 instead of 19, and we crashed! Kinch, radio London."

He obeyed, before handing the microphone to Hogan and going back over to Newkirk, to see if he could help Carter with him.

"Papa Bear calling Mama Bear," Hogan said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Mama Bear, here. Did you retrieve the plans? Over."

Hogan shook his head. "We sure did, and nearly got blown up! Why was the air strike time changed to 1800? Over."

There was silence for a minute, and everyone looked at Hogan, wondering why.

"Repeat, why was the air strike time changed? Over."

"Papa Bear…the air strike was on schedule at 1800 hours. Perhaps you are mistaken? Over."

"What?!" said LeBeau.

Carter looked up from where he knelt beside the cot, cleaning the blood from his friend's face. "They said 1900! I heard it too!"

Hogan nearly dropped the microphone. "That's a definite 'no', Mama Bear. We were told it was planned for 1900! Over!"

More silence.

"I don't believe it!" said LeBeau. "Who are they trying to fool?"

Hogan leaned on the table; in shock that London had made such a serious mistake. "Quiet!" he told his men, when their chatter became too much.

The voices instantly stopped, and the radio came alive again.

"Papa Bear…we regret the unfortunate error—"

"Unfortunate error?!" said Hogan, cutting him off. "One of my—one of _our_—best men is lying here unconscious with a concussion! Your mistake could've _killed_ us both!"

The microphone was silent again for a few seconds, and Hogan knew that by saying 'our', he'd succeeded in telling London that it was Newkirk—their own countryman—who'd been injured by their negligence.

The British voice took on a note of shock. "We deeply apologize, Papa Bear! Is there anything we can do to rectify the situation? Over."

Hogan put the microphone down, exasperated, before picking it up again. "How about checking your notes for mistakes before relaying information from now on? _Over_," he said, sarcastically.

"We shall certainly do so, Papa Bear. If you would like to compile a list, we would be happy to arrange an airdrop of supplies tonight. Over."

Hogan was glad to get that, at least. "Kinch, get the list that we were making the other day, and add _anything_ you'd like to it. That goes for everyone." He picked up the microphone. "Stand by, Mama Bear."

LeBeau went over to Kinch and grabbed a pencil.

Carter looked up from where he still knelt beside Newkirk. "We could use more medical supplies."

LeBeau stopped in the middle of writing 'caviar'. He erased it and wrote 'bandages' instead.

After the men finished with the list, they read it to London, and signed off.

Hogan put down the microphone and walked over to Carter. "How is he?"

Carter sighed. "Passed out before we even laid him here," he said, holding a towel to Newkirk's forehead. "He's not really bleeding much now, but he could definitely use some stitches."

Hogan sighed.

TBC


	3. Oww

The airdrop was done in record time, and LeBeau and Kinch went to retrieve the packages, which were overflowing with everything they requested and more.

Carter and Hogan took care of Newkirk's injury, carefully stitching it and wrapping a bandage around his head. He remained unconscious, and they desperately hoped that he would wake and they'd find his injury to not be as serious as they thought…or they'd be in _big_ trouble where roll call was concerned.

They eventually got Newkirk up the tunnel and into the barracks—after changing him out of the Gestapo uniform—and placed him in Carter's bottom bunk. After the men of the barracks went to sleep, Carter and Hogan both sat on the floor beside the bunk, promising to wake LeBeau and Kinch if anything happened.

Carter played with the flashlight on his lap, the only light they'd be able to use that wouldn't alert the guards that anyone was still up. "I can't believe London made a mistake like that," he whispered to Hogan.

The Colonel shook his head. "I know."

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

Hogan nodded, forgetting that Carter wouldn't see him in the dark. "I'm sure he will…he was conscious and talking. That's a good sign." He refrained from telling Carter that Newkirk didn't remember anything about being injured.

The news made Carter feel better. "Yeah."

They sat quietly for a couple of hours, before Newkirk suddenly groaned.

Carter immediately got to his knees and switched on the flashlight, shining it onto his friend. "Newkirk!" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

The Englishman winced, putting a hand to his forehead and feeling the bandage. "Oh, _blimey_…me 'ead…"

Carter suddenly realized that shining the light into his injured friend's face wasn't a good idea, and he shifted the light to the side.

"How do you feel, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"Awful," he replied, hand still on his head. He took a deep breath and let it out in a shudder, scrunching his eyes tightly with a wince.

"Just take it easy, boy," said Carter.

"Wha' time's it?" he mumbled.

Hogan stuck his wrist in the beam of Carter's flashlight. "A little after 1am."

Newkirk opened his eyes for a split-second. "We're back?"

"You sure are," said Carter.

Newkirk finally lowered his hand again, the wince still displayed on his pale face. "Ooooh…" he couldn't stop himself from moaning.

"What'd you hit your head on?" Carter asked, concerned at the amount of pain that his friend was in.

"Dunno," Newkirk mumbled.

Hogan shrugged. "One of the bombs flipped the car over before it landed against a tree. The dashboard, the window…I can't be sure."

Newkirk suddenly inhaled sharply, biting his bottom lip.

"Do you want a drink of water?" Carter asked. "We have aspirins too."

"Please," Newkirk answered, his voice tight with pain.

The American sergeant went to fetch them, coming back quickly.

"I'll lift him up," said Hogan, remembering what had happened after Newkirk had sat up the _first_ time.

Carter nodded, watching as the Colonel slowly raised Newkirk to the barest-minimum height.

Newkirk gasped again and tried to hold in a groan, but he didn't succeed.

"Wait," Hogan told Carter, making sure that Newkirk wasn't about to pass out again. Thankfully, he didn't, so they quickly gave him the pills and helped him drink the water.

Suddenly, Newkirk tried to pull away from the glass. "Stop," he gasped.

"Uh oh…" said Carter, backing away.

Hogan desperately hoped that what seemed about to happen actually _wouldn't_ happen. He kept his hold on Newkirk, knowing he'd need help if he got sick, but the corporal merely gasped a few times and groaned again. When it seemed obvious that the Englishman was miraculously _not_ about to lose whatever was in his stomach—probably because it was too late at night for anything to actually be _in_ it anymore—Hogan gently laid him back down.

Newkirk looked absolutely miserable.

Carter patted his arm, in sympathy. "He's not gonna make roll call, Colonel."

Hogan shook his head. "We'll have to make something up."

"Something that Klink will believe."

Hogan shrugged, crossing his arms. "That shouldn't be _too_ hard. _Dumb_ stories are usually the most believable..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Schultz counted the men that stood before Barracks Two, instantly seeing that someone was missing. "Colonel Hogan!" he whisper-whined. "Where is Newkirk! Please tell me that he is here!"

"He is, Schultz," Hogan replied. "Inside. He has a concussion."

Schultz's eyes opened wide. "A concussion? How did _that_ happen?"

Before Hogan could answer, Klink came outside. "Repoooort!" he exclaimed.

"We're all here, Kommandant," Hogan called, before Schultz could say anything. "But Newkirk is injured, inside. Can we cut this short?"

Klink strutted over to him. "Injured? How do I know this is not a trick!"

"Come see for yourself," said Hogan.

Klink followed him in and looked at Carter's bunk, where Hogan was pointing. It was clear that Newkirk was not well; even if there _wasn't_ a bandage around his head, his too-pale face made it quite obvious.

"Remove the—"

"Shh!" Hogan said. "Do you know how hard it was to get him to fall asleep?" he whispered. "He probably has the worst headache in the whole country right now."

Klink lowered his voice. "This could still be a trick! Remove the bandage!"

Hogan looked around for the scissors that they kept in their first aid kit, and ever so carefully picked up a piece of the bandage and snipped through it.

Klink was so intent on proving their ruse, that he didn't even realize that Hogan wasn't allowed to _have_ scissors, since they were considered to be a 'weapon'. He made a face when he saw the stitched gash and surrounding bruise on the Englishman's forehead. "Ohh," he said.

Schultz frowned too.

"How did he _do_ this?" Klink asked, sounding shocked.

Hogan sighed. "He fell off his bunk and hit his head."

Klink looked at him, incredulous. "Why would a grown man fall out of bed?"

Hogan shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Kommandant. He hasn't been coherent enough to tell us yet."

Klink blinked. The story was so ridiculous that he _had_ to believe it. "All right, he is excused from roll call until sufficiently recovered."

"Thanks."

With that, Klink left, and Schultz lingered, peering at Newkirk's injury. "That looks very bad! He fell out of his bunk?"

Hogan made the 'come here' gesture with his finger. "Do you want to know what _really_ happened, Schultz?" he whispered, conspiratorially.

"No!" the guard exclaimed, standing up straight. "I know _nothing_ and I would like to _keep_ it that way!"

"Suit yourself," said Hogan.

Schultz quickly left, and everyone chuckled.

TBC


	4. Best Mates

The day passed excruciatingly slowly, with Hogan and the others waking Newkirk every hour, to ensure that he didn't lose consciousness again. The Englishman was in pain and exhausted, refusing food thanks to his nauseated stomach, only sipping water when he desperately needed it.

Carter reached over to wake Newkirk later that afternoon, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Hey, wake up," he said.

Newkirk groaned, lifting a shaky hand to his throbbing head. "Why d'ya keep doin' this ta me?" he whined. It was hard enough falling to sleep with such a headache; he wasn't getting any rest at all by constantly being disturbed.

Carter sighed. They had to explain 'why' to Newkirk almost every time they woke him up, and it frightened him to see his friend so confused. "It's dangerous to let you sleep too long," he explained for the fifth time. "Now, can you tell me your name and rank?"

Another groan was Newkirk's reply.

"Come on, just answer a few questions for me and then you can go back to dreamland!" Carter said.

The Englishman sighed. "Corporal Peter Newkirk."

"That's right! How old are you?"

"Thirty-three. Now lemme bloody sleep."

Carter had a couple more questions for him, but he'd answered those correctly, so he let it go. "Okay. How's your stomach? Can you drink some water?"

Newkirk would've shaken his head if it weren't currently pounding. "No."

Carter sighed and sympathetically patted his friend's arm. "Okay. Go back to sleep."

Newkirk mumbled something before becoming quiet again.

Carter sighed and sat at the nearby table, facing his friend. He was terribly worried; head injuries always scared him, especially since their severity couldn't always be immediately discerned.

"How is he?" LeBeau suddenly whispered, over his shoulder.

"His head really hurts…his stomach, too. He answered my questions though, which is good."

LeBeau nodded. "I'm sure he'll be fine; he has a hard head! You worry too much, mon ami."

Carter smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Just then, the door opened and a couple of men from their barracks were ushered in by Schultz, who came closer and peered at Newkirk. "How is he doing?"

Carter shrugged. "Not too bad, I guess, considering."

Schultz was relieved. "Good. Everyone is restricted to barracks for the next hour," he said. "It is time for maneuvers!"

Carter nodded absently.

Schultz left, and it wasn't until they heard a gunshot that they realized the awful timing.

Hogan suddenly came out of his quarters, having grabbed a nap after being up all night with their injured friend. "What's going on?" he asked, even as another gunshot sounded.

"Maneuvers," said Carter, upset at the realization. "Oh no, they'll wake him up!"

As if on cue, more gunshots sounded and Newkirk startled awake, immediately raising a hand to his pounding head. "Wha—?" he said.

Carter put a hand on his arm. "It's okay, the guards are just doing their weekly maneuvers."

More shots split the air, and Newkirk's body jerked again. "What's that bloody racket?!" he exclaimed, apparently not fully awake.

Carter repeated himself. "The guards' maneuvers."

There was another gunshot, and another immediately after, and Newkirk groaned from the pain that the loud sounds were adding to his head.

Carter jumped up and ran towards the door, but Kinch grabbed him before he could get there. "What are you doing?!"

"Telling them to stop it!"

"They'll shoot you if you go out that door at a time like this!" said Hogan, going over and taking his arm.

Not knowing what else to do, Carter ran back to Newkirk's bunk and clamped both of his hands over his friend's ears.

Newkirk was just as startled at that as he'd been over the sudden gunshots. "What ya doin'?!" he asked.

"Blocking the noise!" Carter said. He then realized that Newkirk might not have heard him, so he removed one of his hands and repeated himself before putting it back again.

Newkirk felt extremely silly with Carter covering his ears, but he was very touched at his friend's desperate need to help. "Ya don't 'ave ta do that, mate."

Right after he spoke, the German guards all fired their guns together, practically rattling the entire camp.

"Good timing," LeBeau told Carter, who smiled.

The guards' maneuvers didn't last as long as usual, making the men wonder if Schultz eventually thought of Newkirk and cut it off early for his sake.

The injured corporal eventually fell back to sleep, and the men resumed their duty of waking him every hour.

By the next morning, Barracks Two was filled with very tired men. Newkirk had made it through the night without losing consciousness, and no one really knew how long they had to keep up the frequent wakings, so they continued to do it through the day, to Newkirk's dismay.

The good thing was that his vision was only blurred now instead of doubled, and his stomach felt a little better, so he allowed them to feed him water and soup broth. He still didn't feel up to eating yet, but was never awake long enough to be hungry anyway.

Later that afternoon, Carter tried to make him eat.

"I can't yet, Andrew," Newkirk told him.

Carter frowned. "But I thought you felt better."

"I do," the Englishman said. "I just don't think me stomach is ready for LeBeau's gourmet cookin'."

Carter nodded. "True." He sighed and took something out from behind his back, sitting it in his lap. "If you don't think you can eat, you shouldn't try to force yourself."

Newkirk was blinking at the tin on Carter's lap, wondering if his off-kilter vision was showing him things that couldn't possibly be there. "What's that?"

Carter shrugged. "Oh, just a tin of English tea biscuits. I'd offer you one, but with your stomach…"

Newkirk was stunned. "Where did ya get that?!"

Carter smiled, opening it and placing it beside Newkirk on the bed. "From England, where else?"

Newkirk carefully raised himself onto an elbow and picked one up, taking a tiny bite and swallowing carefully. He waited to see the effect on his stomach, and was relieved when it sat just fine. He took another bite, before looking at Carter. "But 'ow did they end up _'ere_?"

"After the Colonel came back with you, he yelled at Mama Bear for messing up and almost getting you killed," the sergeant told him. "We gave them a list of things we wanted—not just needed, but _wanted_—and they airdropped it all. I tried to think of some things for _you_…do you like them?"

Newkirk was touched; Carter truly was a caring friend. "These are me favorite, mate. I used ta buy them all the time, back 'ome…"

Carter smiled at that. "Really? Well you have a lot of them now…I had them put in a _few_ of those tins, and a whole bunch of tea too. Oh, and I asked for these!" He stuck a hand into his pocket and took out something small, handing it over. "Look, a brand new deck of cards! It was the first thing I thought of, since yours are all worn out."

Newkirk opened the box and took them out, thumbing through them with a smile. Not only was his old deck of cards _very_ worn out, but some of the cards were missing, causing a huge annoyance with certain games. "Andrew…I dunno what ta say…"

"You don't have to say anything," said Carter. "That's what friends are for."

Newkirk smiled, oddly choked-up. "Thanks. You're the best mate a bloke can 'ave."

Carter smiled back.

TBC


	5. Knackered

That night, Hogan decided that they'd try waking Newkirk every two or three hours, figuring he was on his way to recovery by now. Newkirk woke up each time without incident; so after morning roll call, Hogan figured that they'd just let him sleep until he woke up himself, as long as it wasn't an extreme length of time. It troubled him that Newkirk still didn't remember the accident—and Carter had been shocked when he'd found out—but he'd heard of some people _never_ remembering an incident that resulted in a head injury. They'd just have to let the corporal take it easy for a while, until they were sure he was back to complete health.

Newkirk was finally getting some quality rest; not being constantly woken anymore, and was finally able to sleep deeply enough to dream…

_"Take zis man's orders and give zem to me so I can change zem to zee Russian Front!" Newkirk exclaimed. He kept a stern expression on his face as Hogan stepped forward, but the man quickly took the new gun's plans out of a drawer._

_"Give zem to me, sergeant," Newkirk said to Hogan._

_Hogan snatched them from the man and handed them to Newkirk, who took a monocle out of his pocket and stuck it in his right eye. "Hmm…hmm…yes…" Newkirk mumbled, studying them. He looked at the German and nodded. "Danke," he said. He then rolled the plans up and stuck them inside his jacket._

_The man protested, and Newkirk almost laughed when Hogan's 'achtung!' promptly shut him up. They quickly left, and after they'd driven through the gates, they'd both laughed over their successful theft of the plans. Soon, though, Newkirk heard the sound of approaching planes, and stared in shock out the window. "Colonel! It's the air raid!"_

_"What?!" Hogan said. "What time is it?"_

_Newkirk looked at his watch as a bomb exploded nearby, sending his heart into his throat as Hogan swerved the car. "It's only 1800, Colonel!" he said._

_Hogan gave no answer, and suddenly another bomb exploded, sending the car rolling upside down before it landed right side up against a tree. _

_At some point during the car's tumble, Newkirk felt his head smack hard against something, and he fell into darkness…_

Newkirk woke with a start, surprised at the vividness of the dream. His head still throbbed, and he reached up a hand to it.

"Hey, you okay?" It was Carter, unsurprisingly.

Newkirk felt groggy. "I remember what 'appened."

Carter's face split into a wide grin. "Do you? That's great! Hey Colonel! Newkirk remembers!"

Hogan came out of his quarters, making his way towards the bunk. He was immensely relieved that Newkirk had woken on his own.

"I was impersonatin' a general," Newkirk said, before Hogan said anything. "You were a sergeant." He smiled. "I outranked ya."

Hogan smiled back. "Don't remind me."

Newkirk's smile widened. "We gave that bloke a right scare, didn't we? Didja see his face when I stuck the plans in me pocket?"

Hogan chuckled. "It was priceless."

Newkirk's smile faded. "Me monocle! What 'appened ta it?"

"I put it in your foot locker," Carter told him. "Found it in the uniform pocket."

Newkirk was relieved. "Oh, that's right, I put it in there. Guess I didn't quite remember _everythin'_." He tried to sit up a little, and Hogan helped him.

"Do you remember the crash?" Carter asked.

Newkirk carefully nodded. "I may 'ave forgotten it once, but I'll never forget it again. The bombs were rainin' down, mate, an' we 'ad nowhere ta go."

Carter frowned.

Newkirk shrugged. "Then the car rolled over, an' that was it. I woke up not rememberin' 'ow we'd got there."

"Wow," Carter said.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Carter brought Newkirk some more aspirins and water.

"Does your head hurt any less yet?" the sergeant asked.

"Yeah, it's gettin' better," Newkirk said. "Me vision's just about fine now, too." He reached up to feel the bandage. "What's this look like?"

Carter looked at Hogan, as if asking if they should take the bandage off. The colonel shrugged and reached over to untie the bandage, removing it while Carter went in search of a mirror. He came back and handed it over.

Newkirk stared at his reflection, shocked at the sight of the three-inch-long stitched gash, surrounded by a nasty purple bruise. "Blimey!"

"Yeah," said Carter. "That's what _I_ thought! Well, in more American-type words."

Newkirk reached up and felt the wound, wincing.

Hogan grabbed his hand and lowered it. "Now now, no touching."

"No wonder I was thrown for a loop," the corporal said, looking at the wound for another few seconds before handing the mirror back to Carter. "What time is it?"

Hogan answered. "Quarter past noon."

"Can ya help me up? I'd like ta go outside for a while."

Carter gave Hogan a worried look. "I dunno if you _should_ get up yet, Newkirk…"

"Well, 'ow long 'as it been?" Newkirk asked.

"Um, three days," Carter told him.

"I've been lyin' 'ere too long," Newkirk said. "I just want some fresh air."

Hogan couldn't blame him…it was early summer and the barracks currently felt stuffy. "Fine, but only for a minute." He reached over and pulled the covers back, before taking Newkirk's arm and helping him sit up on the side of the bed.

This was the first time that Newkirk had actually sat up since he'd been injured, and he took a deep breath when he got dizzy.

"Take it slow," said Hogan. "Let us know when you're ready."

Carter sat next to Newkirk and held onto his arm, to keep him steady.

A minute later, Newkirk told them he was ready, and they slowly helped him stand, Carter immediately pulling one of his arms around his own shoulders.

It was a good thing, for Newkirk got even dizzier, more than he expected.

Hogan held onto his other arm, watching as the Englishman paled and closed his eyes, slumping against Carter.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…" the American sergeant said, worriedly.

Hogan opened his mouth, to agree, but Newkirk spoke first. "I'm okay." He didn't really sound it, but he opened his eyes, blinking a few times.

Against their better judgment, Carter and Hogan helped him towards the barracks door, with Hogan opening it.

Outside, the men were hanging around, talking, smoking, or playing ball. A nice breeze wafted by and ruffled Newkirk's hair, making him glad he hadn't given in and stayed inside.

The two men helped their injured friend the few steps to the bench, where they sat him down. Carter sat next to him, making sure he was okay.

Newkirk repeatedly blinked, the bright sunlight increasing his headache. He suddenly realized that he was sitting outside in his pajamas, but the breeze felt so wonderful that he really didn't care.

A few of the prisoners eventually spotted him and came to ask how he was. LeBeau and Kinch were overjoyed to see him out of bed, and Schultz seemed the happiest of all, jogging over as fast as his overweight body could go.

After a while, Hogan could tell that the corporal was weakening. "All right, visiting hours are over. Newkirk needs to get back to bed."

"I hope you continue to feel better, Newkirk," Schultz said. "If you need anything, let me know."

Newkirk smiled. "Thanks, Schultzie."

Schultz took his rifle back from Carter, who'd been 'holding' it for him, and went back to his post.

Hogan and Carter brought Newkirk back inside and helped him lie down again.

"You okay, Newkirk?" Carter asked.

The corporal gave a huge yawn. "I'm right-knackered an' about ta flake out."

Hogan and Carter could always tell how tired or stressed Newkirk was by the amount of British slang he used. _That_ one was definitely in the top three.

"Um…okay," Carter replied.

Without another word, Newkirk closed his eyes and fell right to sleep.

TBC

Translation of Newkirk's British slang: Exhausted and about to fall asleep/pass out. LOL


	6. Worth It

The next day, Newkirk felt better. His head still hurt and he felt a little weak, but it was much easier to handle than the first three days had been. When he woke up, the barracks was empty except for Carter, which didn't surprise him.

"Morning," Carter said, waving from the nearby table. He had Newkirk's tin of tea biscuits open before him. "I hope you don't mind…I tasted one. They really _are_ good!"

Newkirk smiled and started to sit up. "I don't mind."

"I tasted the tea, too. It's not bad, but I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ta each 'is own, mate. I like both, but there's nothin' like a good spot o' tea ta warm the insides…especially with one of those biscuits!" Newkirk said, pushing the covers back and shifting to sit on the side of the bed.

Carter dashed over and took his arm, seeing that he was getting up. "Nice and slow," the sergeant said, remembering what had happened the day before.

Newkirk obeyed, stumbling a little as he made his way to the table with Carter's help.

"I'll get you some tea," Carter told him, going over to the stove.

Newkirk reached over for the tin of biscuits, pulling it over and eating one as he waited for his friend to come back.

The American returned and put the mug in front of him, with two aspirins. Newkirk thanked him and popped them into his mouth, drinking half the cup in one gulp. When he put the mug back down, Carter was watching him.

"How do you feel today?" he asked.

"Better," Newkirk answered. "The headache's really an ache now, instead of that awful throbbin'."

Carter smiled ear to ear. "I'm so glad! I was really worried."

Newkirk smiled back, wondering how a nice kid like Carter had ever ended up in the often-harsh military. "I'll be right as rain soon, mate, ya don't 'ave ta worry 'bout me."

Still smiling, Carter nodded, but Newkirk knew that his American friend would worry about him anyway.

Turning his head slowly, Newkirk looked to see if one of his uniforms was in sight. "Feel like goin' outside?"

Carter's eyebrows rose. "Yeah. Are you sure you're well enough?"

"Been lyin' around for too long. Gets borin' after a while."

"Yeah. It can really stink to be stuck in bed." Carter stood and went to Newkirk's footlocker, opening it and taking out one of his uniforms.

Ten minutes later, the two men were leaving the barracks, with Carter gripping Newkirk's arm lest he falter. He sat him on the bench, and Hogan immediately saw them and walked over.

"Hey, how you feeling?" the colonel asked.

"Better, guv," Newkirk said, enjoying the sun on his face.

"Great," Hogan said, relieved. "We handed those plans over to the Underground last night, and they're already in England."

Newkirk took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "That's a relief."

"It had a pretty high cost, though," said Carter, eyeing his friend's bandage.

"Yeah, it did," said Newkirk, rubbing his head. "But it was worth it."

"Worth it?" said Hogan, surprised to hear him say that. "In what way?"

"Well, _Colonel_," said Newkirk, with a smile. "I got ta see what it felt like ta be a _general_, an' give _you_ the orders for once!"

THE END


End file.
